Chapter Five
Will drops his keys into the basket on the shelf by the door to the garage and takes a long, slow breath. The soft light-green walls and cream trim of the kitchen opens up to the warm earth tones of the hallway.
Summer’s evening light filters in from the wide windows by the kitchen table, illuminating the sparkling marble counter tops and stainless steel appliances. His shoulders relax.
Home. It’s his favorite place to be.
Crossing to the broad, dark wood table, he unloads the bags he’s picked up from Jimmy’s, their local diner, onto the counter. He’s brought mac ‘n’ joe, Patrick’s favorite, and a hamburger and fries for himself. He worked out earlier in the day at the new gym he installed in the Good Works offices, so he feels justified in flooding his body with high calorie, fatty, delicious diner food.
The sound of their piano drifts to the kitchen from the living room as he unpacks the bags. Will pauses with his hip against the counter to listen. As the music slips over him, his muscles relax and even his hair seems to settle more gently against his scalp. The knot of sadness he’s felt since his conversation with Caitlin about Ryan loosens and he can breathe smoothly again. Then the music shifts.
He cocks his head, a smile floating on his lips.
Patrick plays a pop song that’s been ear-worming everyone and their brother the last few weeks. The chorus is passionate and plaintive, a lover calling desperately to the one she’s lost. Patrick pounds the keys on those parts, and Will shivers, the emotion radiating from the song.
Still, he’s surprised Patrick’s willingly playing it. He knows how much Patrick loathes this particular singer, calling her sultry voice “ridiculous,” and her fashion sense “demented.”
Regardless, Will loves how Patrick can instinctively pick up nearly anything he hears, especially now that he’s finally back in practice after years of abandoning the piano due to his father’s abuse.
Will listens a bit longer and then goes back to unpacking their dinner. The scents make his mouth water.
“Puddin’-pop,” Patrick calls. “Get in here and do something to get this hideous song out of my head.”
“You get in here and eat dinner with me,” he calls back.
A few seconds later, a tired and disgruntled Patrick strolls into the room. His always neat, curly auburn hair looks as though he’s been dragging his hands through it, and he’s got a reddish five o’clock shadow going on. He’s barefoot and wearing the black jeans he prefers with the same rust-colored button-down shirt he owns four of.
“Mac ‘n’joe?” he asks, sharp blue eyes scanning the take-out containers as he sniffs the air.
“Of course.”
“Thank Christ.”
“It’s been that kind of day, huh?” Will wads up the paper bags the food came in and throws them in the recycle container.
“For you too?”
Will nods. He doesn’t want to bring up what his sister told him about Ryan, though. That’s still a sore spot with Patrick, if only because Will can’t seem to stop caring about Ryan, deep down. He’s not in love with the guy anymore. Not in a very long time. But he does retain basic human caring for his first love.
Will knows Patrick’s not jealous. He just doesn’t think what Will does to himself when the subject of Ryan comes up is healthy. And given how guilty and nauseous he’s felt off and on all day since Caitlin told him about Ryan being in the hospital, dying, Patrick’s probably right.
They gather the dishes and silverware as a team and sit down to dig into their dinner.
“How’d it go with Caitlin?” Patrick asks, eventually. “She seemed excited when she called me yesterday to say goodbye.”
Will sighs. “She’s never coming back.”
“Nope.”
“You’re supposed to reassure me.”
“Why would I do that? She’s not coming back.” Patrick jabs the air with his fork. “I wouldn’t come back if I were her.” He chews another giant bite of mac‘n’joe and moans softly. “This is good.”
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s good every time. And, you’re right. I should reassure you. But I can’t. Your sister isn’t the brightest bulb in the Patterson family chandelier, but she’s smart enough to leave and never return.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “It’s a no-brainer to get far away from Healing and, more to the point, Kimberly.”
Will takes a bite of his burger and swallows before saying, “Mom’s not that bad.”
“Oh, yes she is.”
“I know, but…” Will squirms in his seat. “She’s my mother.”
“More’s the pity.” He zeroes in on Will now. “She got under your skin this morning, huh?”
Will squeezes ketchup over his fries and pops two in his mouth. “I don’t know how she does it, but she always manages to make me feel guilty. Like I haven’t earned the right to do what I want with my life.”
“You’ve more than earned everything you have.”
“I know. She just…” Will shakes it off, taking another bite of burger. “Let’s not talk about her. How was your day?”
Patrick makes a noise of disgust, shoves in more of his dinner, and shrugs. “Just another day in paradise.”
“How’d your morning surgery go?”
“Canceled. Patient popped a fever.”
“So that’s why you’re grumpy.” Will smiles. “Didn’t get to mess around in anyone’s brains today.”
Patrick lightly snarls. “I’ve got plenty of reasons to be grumpy. Your family is annoying and the nurses here are criminals.”
Will almost chokes on his laugh. “The nurses are what?”
“Criminals.”
“Okay, back up.”
Patrick wipes his mouth and launches into a long and irritated tale of a nurse he suspects of charting a dose of anti-seizure medication without actually giving it to a patient. The entire rant takes long enough for them both to finish their meal and move from the table to the cushy sofa in the living room.
The housekeeper came during the day, so the remote controls are lined up carefully on the broad coffee table and the TV screen and windows onto their wide, summer-green backyard shine dust-free and spotless.
“Her name’s Ruby something,” Patrick sums up with a glare, like the name means everything. He turns to prop his bare feet up in Will’s lap. “She’s new and a redhead. Never trust a redhead.”
“You and Connor are both redheads.”
“I bet she’s a Sagittarius too. I’d put money on it.” Patrick taps his fingers anxiously against his left leg even as he stretches out to get more settled on the couch.
“Patrick, has it occurred to you that you’re fixating on this woman?”
Fixation sometimes happens with Patrick’s autism spectrum disorder. His brain locates an “enemy” and he can’t let it go until he’s solved the problem or defeated the brain tumor or whatever else.
“Now you sound like Don,” Patrick grumbles. He wriggles his toes and Will gives in, massaging his feet. “Ah, that’s more like it.”
“So you talked to Don about the nurse?”
“Of course. Ruby what’s-her-face needs to get out of my hospital. Yesterday.”
Will digs into the arch of Patrick’s left foot. “Okay, so how did that conversation go?”
Don Knife is a big fan of Patrick’s, so Will’s betting it went reasonably well, but he’s also a fair man, so he isn’t going to let Patrick’s suspicions ruin a woman’s career untested.
Patrick rolls his eyes. “It went annoyingly, of course. I told him what I told you, plus I asked him how I’m supposed to feel comfortable leaving my patients for ten days when the nurses are charting medications they never gave.”
“What did he say?”
“Something about not getting ahead of ourselves and how we need to wait for the lab results on my patient’s urine. As if I don’t know what she looks like on five hundred milligrams of Keppra versus zero.” Patrick hisses as Will hits a tender spot on his heel.
“Don’s hands are tied until he has proof.”
Patrick closes his eyes and tilts his head back, relaxing a little as Will works on the tender areas of his feet. “I realize that.”
Will ponders the situation as he continues the foot massage. “If she didn’t give the dose but she charted it, what did she even do with the meds? It’s not like there’s a lot of demand on the dark and disturbing streets of Healing for Keppra.”
“Maybe out on the reservation. Folks out there have a hard time getting the medications they need from Indian Health Services. They have to travel a long way. It can be dangerous or impossible for someone with seizures to get a ride all the way to Eagle Butte for an appointment. That’s a problem. It needs to be fixed. The folks on the reservation deserve health care.”
“They do.”
“Still, this Ruby can’t just—”
“Patrick. Let’s wait for the urine. Maybe your patient is metabolizing faster than she should be.”
Patrick’s brows furrow. “In that case, another MRI will be needed to see if there’s something going on with her liver or—”
“Right. And that’s not something that can’t be handled in your absence. Calm down. Don and Dr. Lerma will be able to deal with everything while we’re away.”
Patrick nods once, sharply. His fingers tap on his pant leg again and his lips narrow into a straight, hard line. “It’s a crime.”
“If she’s stealing drugs, then Don will handle it. It doesn’t have to be up to you.”
Patrick harrumphs and stares off over Will’s shoulder, his blue eyes narrowing in thought. “She’s messing with my patient.”
“I know.”
They sit in silence for a while until Patrick pulls his feet away and motions at Will. “Your turn.”
Kicking off his shoes and toeing off his socks, Will lets out a long sigh before depositing his feet in Patrick’s lap. He’s not on his feet all day the way Patrick is, but he never turns down a quid pro quo foot rub.
He groans and lets his head fall back against the couch cushions as Patrick’s long, steady, surgeon’s fingers dig into the balls of his feet and work through the tender areas.
He can tell by the way Patrick’s eyes search the air around them that he’s still thinking about the nurse and trying to solve the problem. In the quiet of their living room, evening shadows grow long. His own mind drifts back to the driveway and the sunlight shining in Caitlin’s hair as she’d told him about Ryan.
He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and shuts it again. Scrunching his eyes tightly, he tries to let Patrick’s fingers work their magic, but still he can’t let go of the mental image of Ryan: skin yellow, eyes sunken, wired to machines in the hospital and waiting to die. He rubs his eyes hard, trying to drive the image away.
“If she’s hurting my patient, she deserves punishment,” Patrick mutters.
Will’s throat goes dry, an idea coming to mind—a way to block out his guilty thoughts and distract Patrick from obsessing. He clears his throat.
“Want to punish someone?” Will asks, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and exposing a stripe of his chest hair.
Patrick’s gaze swerves his way.
Will smiles and undoes another button, revealing even more of the fur he knows Patrick loves so well. “I know someone who enjoys being spanked. He might be willing to play bad nurse. If you want.”
Patrick’s lips soften and his blue eyes dilate slowly. “Does that someone have a juicy ass that jiggles just the way I like?”
“I’ve heard he does.”
“Prove it.”
Will pulls his feet out of Patrick’s hands and stands, disconnects his glucose monitor, and sheds his shirt before unbuckling his belt. Shoving his pants down, he spins around, arching his back slightly to display his naked ass. “How’s this?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure.” Patrick’s warm hands cup his butt cheeks, and he lightly smacks the right one. “Yes, that’s what I like.” He does it again, a bit harder so it makes Will jump. “Just like that.”
Will shivers, and his cock rises as he whispers. “Do you want me to play bad nurse?”
Patrick drags him back toward the couch and pulls him down onto his lap, chin hooking over his shoulder. “Mmm, no. Let’s play captured superhero instead.” He adjusts his hips so that beneath the soft material of his jeans his hard dick wedges between Will’s ass cheeks.
Will laughs softly. Captured superhero is a silly game, but it’ll crack the tension that’d been growing in the air. “Dr. Villain, I’ll stop your evil plans.”
Patrick slides his hands up Will’s thighs, through his pubes, avoiding his hard cock, and then traces up to his stomach, sliding past his infusion site and BG sensor, then up to his nipples, tweaking them gently.
“You’ll never make me come, Dr. Villain. Never,” Will whispers and pretends to struggle against Patrick’s hold. “I’ll never break.” His naked skin against Patrick’s clothes is always a turn on and his cock flexes hard, bringing up a bubble of precome.
“We’ll see about that, Super Do-Gooder.” He maneuvers Will around so he’s on his stomach, ass up, sprawled over Patrick’s thighs. He slaps his ass gently at first, and Will wriggles around, trying to get him to do it harder. Patrick slaps him lightly again, and Will clutches the pillows in anticipation.
“You’re weak, Dr. Villain,” he says in his best superhero voice. “I’ll defeat you yet.”
“Weak?” Patrick smacks his butt harder and Will arches into it, barely holding back the cry of “yes” that wants to burst through his lips. “I’ll show you weak, Super Do-Gooder.” Then he lays a couple of good stinging whacks on Will’s butt, grabbing it in both hands to squeeze greedily before spanking it again.
Will moans and grins into the pillow. “You’re evil, Dr. Villain. Diabolical.”
“You’ll beg for mercy.”
“Never.”
“I’ll make you beg to come.”
“Never!”
Patrick sucks two of his own fingers into his mouth, gets them wet before prodding at Will’s asshole firmly, gaining entrance as Will bears down to let him in. Patrick wriggles his fingers inside and Will groans. “Just as I suspected. A slut for it.”
Will breaks into a sweat, and his voice is breathy when he says, “I’ll never come for you! I’ll resist to the end of time.” But he lifts up his ass and takes Patrick’s fingers in deeper.
When Patrick starts massaging his prostate, Will frantically rubs his cock against Patrick’s too-soft jeans, mentally cursing that Patrick eschews the rougher fabrics.
“You’re a dirty, filthy boy, Super Do-Gooder.”
“I am!” Will groans, shoving back against Patrick’s fingers. “I’m such a dirty boy.”
Patrick laughs. “You love being fingered so much you can’t even pretend to hate it.”
Draped over Patrick’s legs on the sofa, with his prostate shooting pleasure through his body, Will allows himself to disintegrate into a babbling, begging mess. Patrick holds onto the game a bit longer.
“Just give me your dick, Patrick,” Will whimpers. “Please.”
“Poor, Super Do-Gooder. Look what you’re reduced to. What would the good people of Healing think of you now?”
“Please,” he whispers. “I want to come with you fucking me.”
“What would they think to hear their superhero begging for Dr. Villain’s fat cock like a slut?”
Will whimpers and bucks, trying to get enough friction on his dick. “Patrick.”
“Yes, Super Do-Gooder?”
“Fuck me, you jerk.”
Patrick chuckles and twists his fingers again just so. Will’s cock aches and swells, and he humps Patrick’s legs harder. “Please, Patr—”
Patrick tsks. “Uh-uh, Dr. Villain.”
“Please Dr. Villain.” Will’s voice is rough and wet, the couch pillows are crumpled from his grip, and his asshole burns slightly from the spit-slicked finger fuck. “Make me come,” he begs again. “Get your dick in me and make me come.”
Patrick hisses and pulls his fingers free, wiping them on a tissue he grabs from the coffee table. Will flips over and clutches Patrick’s face, kissing him passionately. Their tongues tangle, and Will slides from his position on Patrick’s lap to the rug on the hardwood floor, tumbling Patrick down with him. Forcing Patrick’s pants over his hips, Will’s gratified when Patrick’s cock flops out hard and slick at the tip.
He sucks it greedily, getting the taste of precome in his mouth. Then he falls to all fours, the rug scratchy beneath his knees, presenting his ass. He says over his shoulder, “Get your dick in me now, Dr. Villain.”
Patrick spits liberally into his hand and wipes it over his cockhead before lining up with Will’s asshole.
“Gonna burn,” he whispers.
“Do it.”
Pushing in, Patrick grunts. Will throws his head back, crooning with pleasure and pain. The burn from the rough entrance penetrates the haze of Will’s lust, and he curses under his breath. Patrick pulls out again, reaches for the drawer in the coffee table, and grabs a stashed tube of lube. He applies it quickly, making Will shudder, then pushes in again, both of them crying out with pleasure.
“Yes,” Will whispers as Patrick flattens himself against Will’s back, shirt rough on his exposed and eager skin. “Pound me. I want it. I want you.”
Patrick wraps his hands loosely around Will’s exposed throat and goes to town, driving into him hard and fast. The sound of flesh slapping together and the scent of their fucking rises around them. Patrick grunts and whispers filthy things in Will’s ear, and Will moans and writhes, trying to reach orgasm, hungry for it.
Patrick reaches around and takes hold of him. “Are you gonna come for me?” he growls, low and hot in Will’s ear.
“Yes!”
“Do it then.”
“I’m close. Harder,” Will demands, pushing back into each thrust, his body jolting with pleasure. “Now, please, hard. Harder.” Patrick’s hand tightens infinitesimally around his throat, claiming and possessive, commanding. “Yes! Oh, please!”
Will bites his lip, his body spasming and come shooting in bursts from his aching cock. He convulses hard beneath Patrick’s still-thrusting body before he collapses, trembling, to the floor.
As Will heaves in breaths and shudders through aftershocks, Patrick grips Will’s hips and slams into him, finally shoving in as far as he can, jerking as he comes too. His groan, broken and ragged, barely penetrates the sound of Will’s thrumming pulse.
“And that’s how Dr. Villain fucks Super Do-Gooder,” Patrick mumbles in his ear after his own twitching has stopped.
Will laughs softly, his limbs already protesting the rough floor sex. A niggle of reality forms in the back of his mind about the mess they’ll have to clean up.
Patrick pulls out slowly, pushing whatever small amount of come slips out back in. He collapses on the floor beside Will and draws him close.
“That was great,” Will murmurs, dreamy and tired now. The things he’s been trying to avoid thinking about have drifted away in the bliss of post-sex recovery in Patrick’s arms.
“By the way,” Patrick says, his voice gravelly from all the groaning. “Your uncle’s going to be fine.”
“Hmm?”
“Your mom didn’t text you?”
“Text me about what?” He’s had his phone off ever since he went into the meeting with Owen, mainly so he wouldn’t have to listen to his mother’s hysterics over his sister leaving. He just didn’t have the energy for her after hearing about Ryan.
Crap. Ryan.
“Your uncle’s in the hospital with a concussion. Overnight for observation. He’s fine.”
Will sits up, knocking Patrick’s arm off. “I had no idea. I should…we should…”
Patrick slides a reassuring hand up Will’s arm and shakes his head. “Nope. We should clean up, read in bed, and get some sleep. Like I said, he’s fine.”
Will sighs and rubs his face. Patrick frowns, considering him carefully for a moment. “Hook yourself back up. Test. I’ll be back with some fruit juice.”
Will replaces the tubing for his monitor and pump, puts his underwear back on so he clip the pump to it, and waits. Patrick returns with fruit juice. Will sips it while Patrick pricks his finger for the test.
“A little low, but you’ll be fine.”
Will nods and rubs at his face. “I feel a little woozy. Is the sensor in all right?”
Patrick un-tapes the sensor on Will’s abdomen carefully and withdraws it. “I don’t know. Let’s put in a new one to be sure.”
Sipping his juice, Will lets Patrick handle the trade for him. He’s tired after the sex and drained now that he’s remembered about Ryan, and his low BG isn’t helping his mood any. Once Patrick finishes double-taping everything back and Will’s juice box is drained, they clear up the mess they made before going upstairs to shower.
“Do you not want to go on the trip?” Will asks, washing his hair and watching Patrick soap up under the second showerhead across from him.
Patrick frowns. “Why?”
“Earlier, you made it sound like you were worried about going, because of having to trust your patients with the other doctors.”
“I’ve planned this trip down to the last detail. We’re going.”
“But it won’t be fun if you’re going to panic about it.”
“Panic is a strong word. I’ll be stressed about it. But I promised you a honeymoon and you’ll have a honeymoon.”
Will smiles, but his heart isn’t totally in it. Maybe he’s being selfish to go away right now. Maybe he should drive to Vermillion and make sure Ryan’s getting good medical care. Maybe his mom does need his help with the kids, and what if Patrick’s wrong about Kevin being okay?
“Hey, don’t you panic now,” Patrick says, closing in, soap glistening on his skin and his blue eyes knowing in a way that makes Will shiver. “We’re going on a honeymoon, and no one, not even ourselves, will get in the way of it. Understand?”
Will’s smile is wobbly, but he knows Patrick’s right. “Got it.”
Almost an hour and a half later, Patrick sleeps cradled against his chest, and Will wishes he’d talked with him about Ryan after all. He wants to hear him say, “It’s not your fault.” Sometimes he has a hard time believing that simple truth.
He drops a kiss on the top of Patrick’s head, digs deep, finding the strength in himself to push away the guilt. He hopes one day he’ll fully accept that he can’t fix everything and everyone.
He’s only a pretend superhero.